Two Sides To Go
by girl in the glen
Summary: A strange assignment in an equally strange little town leaves the agents with more questions than answers.


"Boy you aint' got a lickasense, now git outta here and don't come back!"

The youngster ran away from the old woman, his sense of well being thoroughly disrupted by the reprimand from his granny. Illya Kuryakin watched in a type of confused reverence at what he had heard.

"So, does make you yearn for some good old fashioned discipline?" Napoleon was amused at his Russian partner, the seeming lack of understanding.

''You must admit that the scene paints a rather stern picture of the woman's parenting style. I suppose the boys needs it though, he looked perfectly terrified of her."

"Perhaps for good reason?"

"Perhaps. At any rate it has nothing to do with why we are does does it." The last was spoken as a statement of fact, for in truth the two agents from the U.N.C.L.E. were not after schoolboys or ferocious grannies. Their object of interest was a much less interesting study, in fact it was housed in the local courthouse.

"The copper icon is on display as a part of a local archeological dig that has produced some interesting artifacts; mostly from the old ruins of native people here in the area. The one we are after doesn't belong within the collection, it is… " A pause gave Napoleon the opportunity to pick up the dialog.

"Modern is the word I believe you are looking for." The blond raised an eyebrow.

"I wasn't searching, the word was very conveniently located…"

"On the tip of your tongue, no doubt."

That brought a smile to Napoleon's face while Illya glared at his partner, strictly for affect.

"In any case…' an obligatory pause gave the Russian time to refocus.

"The copper medallion is an icon of sorts, although not from any indigenous people here in this region. THRUSH captured it from a band of gypsies in Romania, transported it here to their satrapy in Atlanta, and then presented it as a trophy of this so-called Dig." Napoleon took up the narrative, neither of them averse to rehearsing the story that had prompted their appearance in the little southern town.

"And of course it is only of value to the warped minds of THRUSH who believe it to have some supernatural power."

"Because of the gypsies."

"Because of the gypsies."

Both men looked past the little house that had been the scene of the earlier verbal skirmish; the courthouse was an old brick building that housed all of the civic activities, judicial included, of this county. The Dig was located outside of town on a piece of land now cordoned off and protected by armed guards. Illya and Napoleon had taken note of that and wondered why, exactly, armed men were necessary. Then again they were dealing with THRUSH, and whether or not the dig was authentic, people would do well to stay away from it.

A small hotel was situated across from the courthouse, so the agents headed towards it with plans to rent a room and then sneak onto the dig site during the night. The copper medallion was neither valuable nor powerful, of that there was no doubt. Of greater interest to UNCLE was the site itself. If THRUSH were involved then there had to be an ulterior motive to all of this.

Standing at the desk of the dowdy little hotel, neither man was aware of a set of eyes paying particular attention to them from behind the key box.

"There's two pretty ones out there now, Irma. I do hope Edwin gives them our special rooms…" Giggling and naughty thoughts entertained the two ladies whose hotel this was. They had spent years spying on their more attractive guests, none of them ever the wiser for the intrusion. The two old spinsters had years of memories, and perhaps this night would provide again.

Illya took the keys and left Napoleon to ask a few questions of the accommodating clerk. Edwin, a youngish, bookish looking fellow, had apt answers and directions around the town for dining and shopping. Napoleon figured it was the standard tour guide information but he filed it as possibly useful information before heading to the room.

A single room with two double beds made for reasonable accommodations; better in fa ct than they often had while on the road. Illya had claimed the one nearest the window, possibly in anticipation of spying on the evening activities. Somehow Napoleon didn't figure this town had anything going on after dark. Still, the dig site was THRUSH, and that might mean the minions appeared with nightfall. He hadn't seen any familiar faces yet, something that he hoped meant his and Illya's were also not recognized by anyone.

The two decided to venture out and partake of the local dining experience. Only one in that category, the local restaurant that was next door to the hotel. Illya wondered how any of this had survived the onset of the decade; the highway bypassed it now with the newer interstate, and he could not see any industry to support a local economy. What were the odds that the entire town was a THRUSH enclave?

"Napoleon, aside from the fact that the food is actually quite good, is there anything remarkable about this town that might suggest any work or businesses to keep it going?" Napoleon was enjoying a specialty of the house called Chicken Fried Steak that was flanked by a large mound of mashed potatoes on one side and something the waitress called fried okra on the other. He was dubious about the okra, but upon inspection decided it wasn't awful. Still, he doubted he would ever eat it again.

Illya had opted for the fried catfish, complete with something called hushpuppies that he was supposed to dip into a dish full of green tomato ketsup. Also on his plate was a heaping portion of coleslaw and some fried potatoes that tasted slightly of bacon.

In the center of the table was a large bowl filled with freshly baked biscuits, something that begged to be slathered in some of the butter that was just soft enough to spoon onto the hot bread. Along with the butter and biscuits was a bowl of fried apples swimming in a butter and brown sugar bath that was seasoned with cinnamon and nutmeg. Illya found it hard to concentrate on the conversation as he lit into the sumptuous meal.

Napoleon was considering his partner's question in between bites of the biscuits and steak. He sipped from the glass of the sweet tea that was continually being refilled. He couldn't get enough of it and the question of THRUSH being in charge of this town seemed ludicrous to him as he filled his mouth once more with the bounty on his plate.

Watching from a private table at the rear of the restaurant, Irma and Letticia Mortimer eyed the young men hungrily, their reedy voices trilling with delight as they anticipated their evening entertainment.

The meal was consumed with gusto, and the iced tea filled a seemingly endless thirst that only that fine brew could satisfy. As Napoleon and Illya made their exit from the little restaurant and headed back to the hotel room, each man felt as though his steps were staggering slightly, a buzz of some sort beginning to cloud details and memory.

Illya had the key to the room still and, fumbling in his pocket cursed at his clumsy fingers.

"Hurry up Illya, I don't think I can stand up much longer. What's wrong? Do you feel the way I do?" Illya cursed again before finally pulling out the room key.

"How do I know how you feel? I am…" He jammed the key into the door and wrestled it open, then ran for the bathroom as though being chased by all of THRUSH.

Napoleon collapsed onto the bed, out for the count before his head hit the pillow. Illya emerged from the bathroom, pale and still slightly sick. Looking at his partner the suspicion was confirmed about the meal, or some part of it.

"Napoleon! Napoleon, wake up!" He slapped the groggy American and then, feeling more like himself for having rid his body of the offending substances, he found a vial of smelling salts and broke it open beneath the other man's nose.

Napoleon came to with a grunt and an immediate pain in his temples. He vaguely remembered getting upstairs, but how he landed on the bed was a mystery.

"What happened?" Illya discarded the vial and sat beside his friend.

"You asked me that once already before you passed out. We were doped, probably the iced tea. As I recall I couldn't get enough of it, but it made me sick instead of sleepy. Fortunately I have rid my system of it, although that in itself was very unpleasant."

Napoleon held up his hand, in essence stopping what might come next.

"Please, no details. I'm not feeling too good myself.' He got up and tried to stretch, shaking his head before deciding that was a mistake.

"What do you think it was? And why didn't it affect you the same as it did me?"

Illya had to smile at his partner, the uncharacteristic lapse in control was apparently a problem for the CEA of UNCLE Northwest.

"My, you certainly have a lot of questions Napoleon." Illya's smile was mixed with concern; Solo didn't look well, but then in all probability, neither did he.

"I don't know, but the more pressing question is: Who?" Napoleon was looking past Illya, at a strange effect in the painting above the dingy bureau. He tried to act nonchalantly as he walked towards it, feigning a search for something, allowing him to examine it more closely.

Not one to miss a clue, Illya let it play out, continuing to talk while walking back to the bathroom. If someone was watching, they wouldn't see him there.

"Do you suppose THRUSH knows we're here? I haven't seen anyone suspicious looking, so it might just have been food poisoning. Or perhaps…"

Napoleon saw what he needed to figure out at least part of the puzzle. He said something about needing the bathroom and then pulled Illya in after him as he closed the door behind them.

"What? Did you see something?" Illya was now aware that someone was probably watching them. Still, the question was who, if not THRUSH?

Napoleon had tried to not look directly into the hole, but he was certain he had seen a reflection, as though something was behind it.

"Someone is watching us…' Illya nodded his head, he had surmised that.

"They must be next door. Should we pay them a visit?"

Illya held out his hand as though to say 'after you', then followed Napoleon out and through the main door into the hallway. The room next to theirs had a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob.

"Handy, don't you think? Let's see who's spying on the spies."

With a single movement the two kicked in the door, startling the two old women who were seated facing the wall as they waited for their entertainment to resume. To say they were surprised is inadequate to describe their response, and perhaps delighted is an even more apt word for it.

"Oh Irma, here they are. Oh my, this is exciting!" Leticia Mortimer was giddy with excitement, thrilled to be face to face with the two men she had described as pretty.

Napoleon looked at his partner, surprise and amusement now filling in the blanks on the mystery.

"Good evening ladies. I hate to interrupt the show… ahem… but we really prefer that our room not be included in your entertainment."

The women looked at each other and tried to look sorry, but their guilt was written on their faces. They had been entertained for decades by their guests, albeit without their permission. Oh, what was a lady to do when life had not provided a proper mate for such things?

"We are truly sorry… uh, gentlemen. Can you forgive two silly old ladies?"

Illya shook his head in that small little gesture he intended as absolutely No. Napoleon had to smile, the two sisters, as he had surmised, seemed harmless enough. Although, Illya had become violently ill, so whatever they were using might do worse to someone even more sensitive to the ingredients.

"You know, my friend here became very ill… what if he had died. Do you think you could live with that?"

A look of shock and then sadness overcame both of the powdered and rouged faces.

"Oh my, we never meant to hurt anyone. I don't think anyone else has ever gotten sick before.' They turned as one towards the blond.

"Young man, we are very sorry. I suppose you want us to stop doing this … altogether." Napoleon nodded his head, approaching each woman and kissing her on the cheek. That seemed to make up for whatever loss they felt in abandoning their voyeurism. Perhaps the direct approach really was best.

"All right then, I'm going to plug up this hole and you're going to return to your rooms. I don't expect to see anyone peering through this peephole again; are we agreed?"

Two heads nodded in unison. They looked at Illya again, certain that beneath the somber exterior lay a perfectly sweet and … oh well, never mind. They were reformed. Completely.

After the previous evening's odd events, Napoleon and Illya had managed to get a few hours of sleep. They still had a mission here in this little town, to find out what was at the mysterious dig being guarded by THRUSH personnel.

Napoleon was fairly certain that the town's inhabitants were mostly uninvolved, at least knowingly. It was typical of THRUSH to come into a place like this and try to make inroads, work by the cover of night and then eventually make a move to take over. So far it didn't seem to have run full cycle, which meant there was some hope of finding help should the need arise.

Illya was dressed and ready to head down for breakfast when Napoleon emerged from the bathroom. He pulled on a polo shirt atop jeans, a concession to his environment. The suit he had worn yesterday was blatantly out of synch with this town, obliging him to wear something more in line with his partner's taste in clothing.

When at last they entered the little restaurant for their morning meal, it was with all assurances from the two dowagers in charge that no more funny business would be encountered. Certainly the charming young men who had procured that promise should be treated well, especially the dark haired one. He reminded the old women of a Hollywood film star, eliciting sighs of admiration.

Illya was ready to eat, having lost most of the evening meal. He took note of a breakfast special called the Sunrise Express.

"I don't see anything express about it, but I'll take it anyway. How about you Napoleon?"

Solo didn't have the appetite of his slender Russian friend, deciding on coffee and a bowl of oatmeal.

"Really? I never thought of you as an oatmeal sort of fellow." Illya found it amusing, very much out of character for his normally suave partner.

Napoleon smiled politely, not willing to engage Illya over his choice of breakfast. However…

"Oatmeal is good for you, and it has stamina. You'll be hungry again long before I am."

"I am always hungry before you." The deadpan response was met with a smirk. Changing the subject seemed in order.

"What do you make of the dig? More important, do you think we can get in without any notice? There must be a spot somewhere without a guard."

Napoleon knew that the medallion being touted as part of the artifacts uncovered here was actually from Romania, taken by force from gypsies who had guarded it for decades, possibly centuries. Illya knew of its history, or part of it. His association with gypsies was often questioned, but he had truly been among them at some point in his youth. It was part of a mysterious past about which Napoleon knew less than he would like, but respected as something unnecessary between them.

"I think it is possible that they have found a deposit of some sort, something that they believe will have a reaction to the icon. Why they have put it on display is still a mystery, it seems to serve no purpose, especially if they need it at the site."

"So… we don't know anything. Great.' Napoleon was thoughtfully digging in to his oatmeal, slathered now in butter and brown sugar.

''Do you think you can get inside? I will reconnoiter the perimeter, keep an eye on the guards."

Illya slid a piece of bacon onto his toast, folded it over and took a bite, all the while listening to his friend. He pierced the egg that was cooked perfectly, over-medium, and sopped up the yoke as it spilled out from the white that surrounded it. Napoleon watched studiously, suddenly aware of how good food looked when Illya was eating. His oatmeal suddenly seemed uninteresting.

"You know, you eat as though it were an art form." The blond smiled, only lack could provide the type of appreciation he had for his food.

"Perhaps it is. In any event, the answer to your question is 'yes', I can get into the camp. It backs up to a wooded area, and I am guessing that it isn't well tended. Let's start there."

Finishing their breakfasts with one last cup of coffee, the UNCLE agents set off to see what they might do.

The first obstacle to getting inside the dig was a big dog that had been tied to the fence post on the backside of the property. As Illya approached, it barred its teeth and began to growl as though the blond were an appetizer waiting to be consumed.

"You are a ridiculous creature, now be quiet." Amazingly the dog responded, more because of the bacon in Illya's hand than anything the Russian said to him.

Having made a friend, Kuryakin shimmied over the fence, patting the now friendly dog as he passed. Stopping in mid-stride, he returned to give the dog another slice of bacon, thus insuring their friendship for at least as long as it might take to investigate the site.

What Illya came upon first made him stop and look twice. This was no archeological dig, there were precious stones everywhere he looked.

"Napoleon… are you there?" Non-plussed by this unusual find, Illya was anxious to report this new development.

"Illya? What's up?"

''The dig is full of … it is full of diamonds. I suspect that the icon is actually a map of some sort, although why they have put it on display is beyond me. There is a fortune in gemstones here, most of them diamonds."

Napoleon looked at his communicator as though it would help him to better understand what his partner was telling him. Diamonds, here in this little podunk town?

"Okay, what do you suggest? I mean, it isn't illegal to mine for stones, so … I mean, what exactly can we do about this?

Illya was just as perplexed, but there had to be an angle to this. He started to pick up one of the gems, but decided it best to not disturb the site and instead returned to the point at which he had come into the yard, giving the dog yet another piece of bacon before climbing over the fence. When he met Napoleon at their agreed upon spot, the two men backed up to a tree, and in one fluid, solitary movement, slid down onto their haunches to try and figure out their next move.

"Do you remember what that icon has on the front of it?" Napoleon was trying to find an angle to all of this. THRUSH using a diamond field to gain some economic footing was not surprising, except for the existence of the field itself. Certainly the townspeople knew of such an extraordinary thing as this.

"I shall need to go into the courthouse and examine it more closely. At this point I am thinking perhaps it was placed there as a way to direct others… or … ' A sigh of exasperation was all Illya could produce at this point. Napoleon shared the frustration his partner was experiencing. This was a strange situation, even for THRUSH.

The UNCLE agents walked back into town, emerging from a stand of trees that provided shade across the courthouse lawn. Illya headed inside, taking the steps two at a time, anxious to get a look at the copper icon that had started all of this. Napoleon took a seat on a time worn bench, nodding affably when an old man approached and sat down beside him.

"Afternoon." The greeting was abbreviated, accompanied by a snaggletoothed smile. The man looked to be well into his eighties, at least by Napoleon's estimation."

"Good afternoon. You have a nice little town here, mister…?" Napoleon intended to try and pry some information out of this old fellow, if at all possible.

"Yessir, Stoneyville's been home to me and mine for nigh on a hundred years." Napoleon whistled at that, appreciative of the longevity involved.

"That's about as far back as the town goes, isn't it? What brought your family to um… these parts?" Using the local vernacular wasn't as easy as it might seem, and Napoleon did not wish to offend the old man.

"Why, I reckon it was the trail that brung 'em, young man.' He winked as he said it, eliciting a smile from Napoleon. "Nah, it was the jewels. Word got 'round to lots of folks that there was a field of sparkly stones in this little valley, and that's how the whole place got started. Stoneyville is named for them stones, or jewels if you like." That made sense, although there was little evidence of wealth that might be attributed to such a rich cache of diamonds and other precious gems.

"So, did people mine for them, or…?" The old man laughed at that, slapping his knee as though especially delighted by the other man's comment.

"You city slickers are all alike, figurin' that it's about the money. No, we just like knowin' they're out there. The little 'uns dig 'em up on Easter, but mostly we just let 'em lie out there and sparkle. Yessir, that's our way."

Napoleon was completely flabbergasted at this revelation. So, THRUSH had become aware of the diamond field, and now were passing off their theft of the town's literal birthright as an archeological dig. The icon in the courthouse was simply a diversionary tactic, to make the locals believe that something else was in the ground besides their sparkly stones.

Illya was suddenly standing beside the two men on the bench, his approach not seen by either of them.

'Oh, Illya… um, please meet …" The old man looked up into the face of the Russian, smiling at the serious looking blond haired man.

"Hello there young feller. My goodness, your eyes look like some of the sparkly stones out in our special field. I bet the girls go all a twitter over the blue of 'em." Illya looked puzzled, his gaze darting from the old man to Napoleon who merely shook his head.

"Thank you, I think. What do you mean your special field? Are you aware of what's going on out there?" Surely someone had protested the presence of THRUSH's bogus archeological intrusion. The old man grinned again, removing his hat and wiping the inside of it with his faded handkerchief.

"Them fellers won't get anything out of our field. Like I told your friend here, only the children carry out the stones. If anyone else tries, well… " He tsked and shook his head, setting the old straw hat back atop his weathered head.

"What? What happens if someone tries to remove a stone?" Illya needed an explanation, and in an instantaneous moment of revelation, each of the men from UNCLE realized that they hadn't actually seen anyone from THRUSH since coming into this little town.

"Sir, please explain what you meant. We came here to stop the group who set up shop over in your field. What happened to them?" Napoleon had a strange feeling about all of this, and about this old man. Suddenly serious, the man whose name had never been shared during this conversation, stood up and straightened, allowing for old bones to settle into place. He looked hard at each of the two men, squared his shoulders and began a narrative that neither of them would soon forget.

"In 1863, after the war broke out, a group of settlers arrived here in Stoneyville; we were trying to escape the war, both sides of it. This little valley provided a shelter from all of that craziness, and neither Union nor Confederate soldiers ever stepped foot here. We were protected, and we had our field of sparkly stones. A lot of people believed that it kept us from being discovered, and maybe that's the truth. Every person who lives here was born here, and none have ever left."

That didn't make sense to Illya. He was doing the math, and in a hundred years the population should have increased beyond what they could see now.

"Then where is everyone? There aren't enough people here to fit into your description of births and … ' He paused, took in a big breath before continuing. "Sir, how old are you?"

"I am one hundred and twenty-eight years old. I was one of the original settlers here. We had forty-five people when we arrived, and there have been sixty-eight births. A few people tried to take stones out of the field, but they never made it out, turned into one of them sparkly gems before they could get outside whatever defines the boundary. Only the children were able to pick up a stone and carry it out, but not past the age of twelve. We found that out the hard way, a tragedy that haunts us still."

Napoleon was disbelieving. He'd seen strange things in his days with UNCLE, but this… Preposterous. It could not possibly be true.

"Are you telling me that living here grants you long life, that the field of stones … takes lives if people steal from it? Where … I mean… how…?" He was flummoxed beyond words.

"Young man, I don't know how and I for certain don't know why. All I know is that it is, and we are living proof of it. Those fellers that came here to rob from us, they're all scattered among the field now, sparklin' like the rest of them stones. Our children are all growed up now, and we don't expect any of them will be leavin'. This is where we live and die, even if it does take us longer than most folks. And as for that field out there, I can't explain it to you, I can only tell you that you don't want to ever pick up one of them stones, for sure as I'm standin' here, you won't leave there if you do."

Napoleon and Illya exchanged looks that were not easily decipherable to the casual observer. The story was ludicrous, the evidence not entirely absent. There were indeed no sign of THRUSH anywhere, and the townsfolk did have a peculiar affect, as though they had been isolated from the rest of the world.

"Let's get out of here Illya. I think our work is done." Illya agreed, although his curiosity made leaving without additional information even more keen.

"How exactly is this report going to look, I wonder. Sparkly field holds power of life and death?" Napoleon bowed his head slightly. Always a report, but not always an adequate explanation for the contents of that report.

They bid the old man a hearty goodbye, thanking him for his narration and the warning. The icon in the courthouse would remain there, it held no secrets, no special powers. It was simply a copper icon stolen from a band of gypsies. He wondered if THRUSH would send more men, and whether or not the warning would be shared with them. Had these townspeople somehow known that THRUSH meant to deceive them? Too many questions.

As Illya and Napoleon packed their belongings, they were both quiet, contemplating the day's remarkable revelation. So engrossed in their own thoughts were they that they never saw the glint of a reflection coming through the peephole in that little painting above the dresser.

Perhaps the two old ladies in the next room weren't quite as reformed as one might hope.


End file.
